Homeroom Diaries Read online

  “No good deed goes unpunished,” Eggy says darkly.

  Tebow seems unbothered by the fact that a giant worm was living in his gut. “Meh. It was kind of interesting. In a disgusting way.”

  “If you think that’s disgusting, you should’ve seen the pipe I helped my dad clear on New Year’s Eve,” Zitsy announces.

  Flatso holds up a hand. “I’m eating.”

  There’s no way Zitsy’s going to stop, though. “The clog was the size of a Chihuahua, and when it came loose, it spewed sewage everywhere! My dad looked like the Creature from the Crap Lagoon.”

  Flatso drops her spoon. “I can’t even look at this stew.”

  “Subject change!” Brainzilla announces.

  Eggy looks grateful. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve got an interview with an alum from—ahem!—Yale University in a week.”

  “They interview juniors?” Eggy’s eyes bug in horror. “Oh, my God, are my parents going to want me to do that?”

  “This is an informational interview,” Brainzilla explains. “It’s supposedly not a big deal, but I still have to figure out what to wear!”

  “How about that Vera Wang wedding dress?” Tebow suggests.

  And just like that, the Freakshow is off, suggesting outfits for Brainzilla’s interview. Nobody seems to notice that I’m being almost completely silent, but at one point, Eggy slips her hand into mine and squeezes my fingers.

  I’m happy to just be with them, surrounded by normal, as if I belong.

  Chapter 33

  MY BAD (AGAIN)

  Margaret, I have been informed about the recent death of your caregiver, Mrs. Morris. I’m very sorry for your loss.” Mr. Tool is facing me, but his eyes cling to the tidy pile of paperwork on his desk as he says this. He places a finger at his neck, like his tie is cutting off the blood flow to his head. It’s interesting to watch the vice principal squirm.

  I actually feel a tiny bit sorry for him, but I don’t know what to say to make this moment less awkward.

  He clears his throat, and the moment lingers. Now I feel like he’s actually waiting for me to speak, which makes it even more impossible for me to think of anything to say. It’s like a silence showdown. I wonder which one of us will break first.

  Finally, I remember what people are supposed to say in this situation: “Thanks for your concern.”

  Mr. Tool nods, as if he’s received the appropriate response and can now move on. “Ms. Kellerman is concerned that this situation may have caused a setback to your case.”

  I sigh. “Well, she should talk to Dr. Marcuse, who isn’t concerned.”

  “It’s perfectly natural that this would affect you, Margaret—”

  “It has affected me.” I have to fight tears, which are trying to strangle me.

  “Given the fragile state of your mental health—”

  “I’m sad, not crazy.”

  Mr. Tool cocks his head, then begins again, as if I haven’t spoken. “Given the fragile state of your mental health—”

  This is about all I can take from Mr. Tool. I really can’t bear listening to the rest of this lecture, so I start playing a Lady Antebellum song in my head—that one where they drunk dial each other, all wasted and desperate.

  I can’t remember the rest of the words, so I switch to counting the hairs on my head. I feel a little bad for ignoring Mr. Tool, but not very. (By the way, his name has been changed to punish the guilty. He’s just… such an implement.)

  After a while, Mr. Tool pauses, as if it’s now my turn to speak.

  “I’m sorry—what were you saying?” I lean forward in my chair a little, trying to look interested.

  Mr. Tool sighs. “I guess we’re through here, Margaret. I think we were through when we started.”

  “I’m really fine,” I say as I haul myself out of the leather visitor’s chair. I will say one thing for Mr. Tool—he has nice chairs. “Thanks for checking in. It was a really nice talk.”

  “Be careful out there.”

  “I know, it’s a jungle.”

  “Yes.…” He sighs and murmurs, “Sometimes it is.”

  Something about his tone makes me stop. Our gazes touch for a moment, and then his eyes shift back to the papers on his desk. But I realize suddenly that Mr. Tool really is afraid for me. He actually cares, in his own totally-not-effective way. He doesn’t want to see me get eaten up.

  For some reason, I find this almost tragic.

  Chapter 34

  HEY, CUCKOO CLARKE!

  I’m not even halfway to my next class (bio with Winnie Quinn) when someone shoves me up against the metal lockers with a deafening clang.

  I hear someone shout, “Hey!” from what seems like far away, but right here, right in my face, is Marty Bloom. His breath is so close I can smell the remains of his lunch. Sour-cream-and-onion potato chips and tuna-fish sandwich, for the record.

  “You’d better not tell anyone about New Year’s,” he snarls, and it takes a moment for that to click into place for me.

  “Bloom, I’ve got some serious problems right now,” I tell him, “and you don’t even make the list.” He loosens his grip a bit—just enough so that the combination lock jamming into my back no longer feels like it’s about to come out through my stomach.

  Confusion flashes over Bloom’s face, but before he can really process what I’ve said, Brainzilla slams into his shoulder.

  “Leave Kooks alone, you dirtbag!” Brainzilla screams, clawing at his eyes.

  “Get her off me!” Bloom shouts. “Get her off me!” He flaps at her like a five-year-old trying to shoo away a bee.

  It strikes me that this moment isn’t really very good for his image.

  “Katie!” I try to pull her off Bloom, but don’t get anywhere until Tebow and Flatso show up. The minute they pull Brainzilla off Bloom, he scrambles to his feet and lopes down the hall.

  Tebow gapes at Brainzilla. “What was that all about?”

  “Aren’t we supposed to be nonviolent?” Flatso asks. “I thought that was your thing, Zilla.”

  Brainzilla’s eyes flicker toward me, then narrow and follow Bloom as he disappears down the hallway. Tebow is still watching her, waiting for an answer.

  “Ask Kooks,” she says at last.

  Everyone looks at me, but I just shrug. Thankfully, nobody asks me to explain.

  “Are you okay?” Tebow asks me.

  “Yes,” I say. It’s true. I think.

  I’m not really someone who advocates violence. Then again, it’s nice to know that your friends have your back. So I’m not saying that what Brainzilla did was wrong… and I’m also not saying that I’m sorry she did it.

  Chapter 35

  MORE “PROGRESS”

  Flatso and I are working on an osmosis lab when the school secretary knocks on the doorframe. Winnie waves her in, and she hands him a note. He frowns as he reads it.

  “Now?” Winnie asks Ms. Alter.

  “That’s what it says,” the secretary snaps. She’s always like that. I think she needs to stop drinking those giant Dunkin’ Donuts coffees, because she is way irritable.

  Winnie looks at me. “Kooks?”

  The class stares at me as I gather my stuff and follow Ms. Alter out the door. She doesn’t say where we’re headed, but I can take a wild guess.

  Ms. Kellerman looks up from her desk when I walk in. “Margaret—please sit down.”

  I plop into the chair across from hers. From the highly concerned look on her face, I guess my “progress” meeting with Mr. Tool didn’t go all that well. From his point of view. That worries me a little. I don’t want to get sent back to Crazytown. Can they do that?

  “I am concerned, Margaret.”

  “Actually, it’s Cuckoo.” I shift my weight in the wooden chair. Ms. Kellerman’s chairs aren’t half as nice as Mr. Tool’s. Maybe it’s easier to get students to confess to things when they’re uncomfortable.

  The school psychologist smiles faintly. “I don’t wish to m
ake light of a serious situation.”

  “Really? Sometimes I think that’s the best thing to do.”

  Ms. Kellerman looks at me like I’m a sentence she can’t quite make sense of. Or maybe one of those word jumbles.

  “In light of the recent developments in your case, I think it’s time for you to show me your diary.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not asking. I demand to see it, Margaret.” The corner of her mouth twists into a triumphant smile. “It’s for your own safety.”

  “Nope.”

  Her smile falters. I think she really wasn’t prepared for me to just flat-out refuse. But I can’t figure out why she wants to see it so badly. She must think it’s chock-full of crazy ramblings. I can’t help thinking about how disappointed she would be by all my failed attempts to come up with a new ending for Twilight.

  Maybe I should just show it to her. But don’t I deserve a little privacy?

  Just a shred?

  Chapter 36

  THE MIGHTY QUINN

  You’re back?” Winnie Quinn smiles when I walk up to his desk, but his eyes quickly cloud over.

  “I just wanted to hand in the homework,” I say, holding out my paper. The bell to end class has already rung, and there’s chaos in the hallway. But Winnie must have this period free, because his classroom is empty.

  “Are you okay, Cuckoo?” he asks as he takes my homework. He looks like he wants to say more, but he’s not sure what. I remember that he probably has almost zero experience talking to other teenagers, because he spent his high school years in college.

  I know we all kind of can’t wait to get the hell out of here, but I don’t think I’d want to have to be the youngest kid in the room all the time, like Winnie was.

  “Oh, sure,” I say. “I’m fine as can be. Fine as rain. Fine as angel-hair pasta. Fine as a lice comb! Couldn’t be better. Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!” For some reason, I said that last thing in a really bad Irish accent. I don’t know why I’m talking, and I can’t imagine how awful I look right now, with puffy eyes and a drippy red nose.

  I just spent twenty minutes arguing with Ms. Kellerman over my diary, and I’m feeling pretty torn open and drained. I mean, I barely have enough energy to get out of bed in the morning, much less to fight with the school psychologist over privacy issues.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Winnie asks. “Or not. I mean, I’m not asking like I’m a teacher and you have to tell me. I’m asking like a… person who’s… concerned. If it’ll help. If it won’t, it’s no big deal. Oh, sorry. I’m rambling again.”

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  “Okay.”

  Silence fills up the space between us, and I’m grateful. Grateful that he cares enough to let me just be quiet for a while. Why do people think talking solves problems?

  “I’m here if you ever change your mind,” Winnie says finally.

  That makes me feel like I might really talk to him someday. If I ever feel like talking again.

  Right now, that’s not looking too likely.

  Chapter 37

  FIRE IN THE HOLE!

  It’s Monday, and usually Monday lunches are the best, because the cafeteria serves up ice cream. Sometimes they even have chocolate sauce and sprinkles. But my friends and I don’t get to enjoy it, because Jenna McClue decides to serve up a fight instead.

  “You bitch!” she screams, right in Brainzilla’s face. “You made out with my boyfriend!”

  “Bloom?” Brainzilla gives Jenna this cool, lifted-eyebrow look that most people find super-intimidating. “Does he know he’s supposed to be your boyfriend?”

  I fight the urge to crouch behind a piece of furniture. I don’t know what Jenna heard—but it must have been about me, not Brainzilla. Jenna doesn’t even glance in my direction, though. She just stares at Brainzilla’s lifted eyebrow as if she wants to rip it off.

  Brainzilla frowns, like she feels sorry for Jenna. “Look, I hate to tell you this, but your so-called boyfriend has—”

  “Stop talking!” Jenna screeches, just before she lunges at my best friend. Suddenly—it’s on.

  Brainzilla is losing, big time! Jenna has wrapped her fingers in Brainzilla’s hair and is yanking like she’s trying to get the top off a cheap wine cooler. Brainzilla lets out a scream, and I don’t even have time to think—I just jump in and bite Jenna’s arm.

  “She bit me!” Jenna is shrieking like a car alarm bent on revenge, but the minute she lets go of Brainzilla’s hair and comes after me, Flatso dives in and holds her off.

  Tebow grabs Jenna and delivers her—still screeching—to a group of stunned Barbies. “Stay away from him!” Jenna screams. “Stay away from my boyfriend!”

  Brainzilla’s fingers are covering her eye. I can tell it’s swollen from where Jenna’s fist caught her right under the brow bone. “Don’t worry, I will!” Zilla snarls.

  And there’s a moment—just a tiny moment—when I should say, “She never went near him! That was me—Bloom tried to attack me!” But the moment slips by, and Flatso steps forward and wraps a thick arm protectively around Brainzilla’s shoulder.

  “Come on,” Flatso says gently.

  The entire cafeteria is silent as Flatso steers us all toward the door. Everyone stares—I feel their eyes like fingers poking at me.

  “Get me out of here,” Brainzilla whispers. I catch my best friend’s spare hand, and Eggy takes up the rear. We’re just heading to the girls’ room, but I feel like we’re escorting a prisoner to the cellblock.

  Chapter 38

  SISTERS IN TEARS

  What the hell is wrong with people?” Brainzilla wails once we’re behind closed doors. She, Eggy, and I are crammed into the handicap stall of the girls’ bathroom. I put down a huge mass of paper towels all over the toilet, just in case anyone needs to sit down. Flatso stands in front of the locked stall door to make double sure nobody comes in.

  “Oh, Zilla,” Eggy says, pulling her close. Brainzilla’s tears leak onto Eggy’s shoulder. Eggy’s tears pour into Brainzilla’s hair. My tears spill down my face and fall into my lap. (Yes, I’m the one sitting on the toilet.) And Flatso’s tears trickle straight into the corners of her mouth.

  “My nose is pouring snot all over your sweater,” Brainzilla says.

  “I love snot,” Eggy swears.

  Brainzilla holds out her hand to me, and I squeeze it. She has a massively swelling eye, and her hands are shaking. I press her fingers to my cheek. “People have been mean to me before,” she says. “But I’ve never been—attacked.” She gulps for air, and her tears start to flow again.

  I know how she feels. Having someone go after you like that—for no reason, or for a reason that isn’t even real—it messes with your sense of safety. I remember Bloom, the fear I felt when I was shut into that small car with him and thought I’d never get out—

  “I hate those Haters for making me cry,” Eggy says, smashing her knuckles into her eyes. “I never cry!”

  “If Jenna tries anything again, I’ll pound her into hamburger,” Flatso promises.

  “That’s just it!” Brainzilla cries. “No pounding! I’m all about nonviolence! But the Haters—they’re making me into the guy from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre!”

  She sobs again, and Flatso looks like someone has just ripped her heart out, and I’m feeling so low I’m practically at the center of the earth.

  This is all my fault. Bloom tried to make out with me, not Brainzilla. Jenna should’ve mistakenly tried to claw my eyes out. And yes! I know that doesn’t make sense! Neither one of us is after Jenna’s boyfriend, so what difference does it make, right? But still—I should’ve said something, even though it probably just would’ve made everything more confusing. My heart is skittering like it can’t get a foothold, and then, before I even know what I’m doing, I hear myself say, “Knock, knock.”

  Silence, except for the sound of breathing.

  “What?” Brainzilla says after a moment.
r />   I clear my throat. “Um… I said, ‘Knock, knock.’ ”

  Eggy’s voice is tentative. “Who’s there?”

  “Hater.”

  “Hater, who?” Flatso asks.

  “Hey, dere!” I say in a really bad Italian accent. “Woulda you lika some lasagna?”

  Everyone stares at me for a moment.

  It’s a long moment.

  Yep, still going.

  Finally, Brainzilla sniffs. “Hey, dere,” she says slowly. “That was totally the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

  Eggy’s chuckle comes out as a snort. “Hey, dere,” she puts in. “I thinka we needa to senda you backa to Crazytown.”

  Flatso wipes the tears from her face. “Hey, dere. You guys are so sweet that we’ll have to forgive you for butchering those Italian accents.”

  I shook my head. “I know. That was terrible. I’m sorry!”

  “Hey, dere. Give me a hug, you coconuts,” Brainzilla says, and we pile on for a big arm-fest. “You’re a good friend,” she says into my hair.

  “I’m not,” I reply. “I’m always all wrapped up in my own problems.”

  Brainzilla and I look at each other.

  “Who said that?” Eggy calls.

  “It’s me,” says a familiar voice. “Zitsy.”

  “Zitsy!” Flatso cries. She unbars the door and swings it open. Zitsy is sitting on a sink. “What are you doing in the girls’ bathroom? You can’t be in here!”

  “Bathrooms have no secrets from me,” Zitsy says. “Unfortunately.”

  Chapter 39

  THAT’S OUR ZITSY

  I just feel like the bad guys are winning,” Zitsy says. “I feel it just eating away at me, the way Drano eats away at a hair clog. I just walk around all day, wondering why someone like Jenna is rich, while Brainzilla has to work her ass off—”